Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.


Best Famous Walter De La Mare Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Walter De La Mare poems. This is a select list of the best famous Walter De La Mare poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Walter De La Mare poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Walter de la Mare poems.

Search for the best famous Walter De La Mare poems, articles about Walter De La Mare poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Walter De La Mare poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...


12
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

Winter

 A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee, 
Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey 
As the long moss upon the apple-tree; 
Blue-lipt, an icedrop at thy sharp blue nose, 
Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way 
Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.
They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth, Old Winter! seated in thy great armed chair, Watching the children at their Christmas mirth; Or circled by them as thy lips declare Some merry jest, or tale of murder dire, Or troubled spirit that disturbs the night, Pausing at times to rouse the mouldering fire, Or taste the old October brown and bright.
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

An Epitaph

 Interr'd beneath this marble stone, 
Lie saunt'ring Jack and idle Joan.
While rolling threescore years and one Did round this globe their courses run; If human things went ill or well; If changing empires rose or fell; The morning passed, the evening came, And found this couple still the same.
They walk'd and eat, good folks: what then? Why then they walk'd and eat again: They soundly slept the night away: They did just nothing all the day: And having buried children four, Would not take pains to try for more.
Nor sister either had, nor brother: They seemed just tallied for each other.
Their moral and economy Most perfectly they made agree: Each virtue kept its proper bound, Nor tresspass'd on the other's ground.
Nor fame, nor censure they regarded: They neither punish'd nor rewarded.
He cared not what the footmen did: Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid: So ev'ry servant took his course; And bad at first, they all grew worse.
Slothful disorder fill'd his stable; And sluttish plenty deck'd her table.
Their beer was strong; their wine was port; Their meal was large; their grace was short.
They gave the poor the remnant-meat Just when it grew not fit to eat.
They paid the church and parish rate; And took, but read not the receipt; For which they claim'd their Sunday's due, Of slumb'ring in an upper pew.
No man's defects sought they to know; So never made themselves a foe.
No man's good deeds did they commend; So never rais'd themselves a friend.
Nor cherish'd they relations poor: That might decrease their present store: Nor barn nor house did they repair: That might oblige their future heir.
They neither added, nor confounded: They neither wanted, nor abounded.
Each Christmas they accompts did clear; And wound their bottom through the year.
Nor tear, nor smile did they employ At news of public grief, or joy.
When bells were rung, and bonfires made, If asked they ne'er denied their aid: Their jug was to the ringers carried, Whoever either died, or married.
Their billet at the fire was found, Whoever was depos'd or crown'd.
Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise; They would not learn, nor could advise; Without love, hatred, joy, or fear, They led--a kind of--as it were: Nor wish'd nor car'd, nor laugh'd nor cry'd: And so they liv'd; and so they died.
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

How Sleep the Brave

 Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve! 
Not one of these poor men who died 
But did within his soul believe 
That death for thee was glorified.
Ever they watched it hovering near That mystery 'yond thought to plumb, Perchance sometimes in loathèd fear They heard cold Danger whisper, Come! -- Heard and obeyed.
O, if thou weep Such courage and honour, beauty, care, Be it for joy that those who sleep Only thy joy could share.
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

Silver

 Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

Why?

 Ever, ever
Stir and shiver
The reeds and rushes
By the river:
Ever, ever,
As if in dream,
The lone moon's silver
Sleeks the stream.
What old sorrow, What lost love, Moon, reeds, rushes, Dream you of?
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

Alone

 The abode of the nightingale is bare,
Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air,
The fox howls from his frozen lair:
Alas, my loved one is gone,
I am alone:
It is winter.
Once the pink cast a winy smell, The wild bee hung in the hyacinth bell, Light in effulgence of beauty fell: I am alone: It is winter.
My candle a silent fire doth shed, Starry Orion hunts o'erhead; Come moth, come shadow, the world is dead: Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone; It is winter.
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

A Song of Enchantment

 A song of Enchantment I sang me there,
In a green-green wood, by waters fair,
Just as the words came up to me
I sang it under the wild wood tree.
Widdershins turned I, singing it low, Watching the wild birds come and go; No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seen Under the thick-thatched branches green.
Twilight came: silence came: The planet of Evening's silver flame; By darkening paths I wandered through Thickets trembling with drops of dew.
But the music is lost and the words are gone Of the song I sang as I sat alone, Ages and ages have fallen on me - On the wood and the pool and the elder tree.
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

The Listeners

 "Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness, Their stillness answering his cry, While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf, 'Neath the starred and leafy sky; For he suddenly smote on the door, even Louder, and lifted his head:-- "Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

All Thats Past

 Very old are the woods; 
And the buds that break 
Out of the brier's boughs, 
When March winds wake, 
So old with their beauty are-- 
Oh, no man knows 
Through what wild centuries 
Roves back the rose.
Very old are the brooks; And the rills that rise Where snow sleeps cold beneath The azure skies Sing such a history Of come and gone, Their every drop is as wise As Solomon.
Very old are we men; Our dreams are tales Told in dim Eden By Eve's nightingales; We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie.
Written by Walter de la Mare | Create an image from this poem

When the Rose is Faded

 When the rose is faded, 
Memory may still dwell on 
Her beauty shadowed, 
And the sweet smell gone.
That vanishing loveliness, That burdening breath, No bond of life hath then, Nor grief of death.
'Tis the immortal thought Whose passion still Makes the changing The unchangeable.
Oh, thus thy beauty, Loveliest on earth to me, Dark with no sorrow, shines And burns, with thee.
12